The bottom holds

youth, lust, bewilderment, and trust

the residue of all that was

the foreshadow of all that must

be lived.

In ten years time I will recall

the moment that is now and how

the joy it held has all been sieved.

Good luck, my friend, each one of us

a dweller of his future hell

spellbound to this, the well

of presence and its shining past.

The duskless dawn approaches fast

a flake sinks to the bottom

of my glass.

Comments are closed.